


My December

by PlotQueen



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-01-01
Updated: 2000-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlotQueen/pseuds/PlotQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when Anita turns down Richard's proposal?</p>
            </blockquote>





	My December

**Author's Note:**

> _My December_ is by Linkin Park from the album _Meteora_.
> 
> Also, as noted by the immense bonfire, my compliments to Ivy for fire hazards.

this is my december  
this is my time of the year  
this is my december  
this is all so clear

 

The house was quiet and dark as she knocked on the door. Anita had expected for Richard to at least be there. After all, dinner at his house had been his idea, right down to her arriving at sunset. She watched the sun sink over the horizon while she waited fro someone to show up and let her know what was going on.

 

She hadn’t been standing there long when the door opened. Richard stood there wearing jeans and a sweater, backlit by hundreds of candles. She guessed that was why he had taken so long to answer the door.

 

With a smile she stepped into his arms. “This is sweet. And romantic,” she said as she pressed her lips against his.

 

He smiled back, his coffee colored eyes seeming black in the candlelight. “I just wanted it to be special,” he whispered through the night as he led her into the dining room.

 

If the hallway had been paved with candles throwing off their diluted light, then the dining room was a small sun ablaze with it. The table was draped in a rose colored cloth accented in gold, shiny and shimmering with light playing off of it. The settings were carefully laid out and there were flowers among the myriad candles.

 

She sighed. She had never seen anything like it and it meant more to her than all of the candlelit dinners Jean-Claude had sat her through. Because it was from Richard, and he was rarely this romantic.

 

He seated her and took her coat and purse, encouraged her to kick off her shoes, relax and enjoy. Then he disappeared, only to return with a platter of stuffed mushroom caps. She sampled them, complimenting him on the taste and watched as he brought the next course, antipasto with a pesto sauce and warm, flaky bread.

 

It was delicious and she said so, many times. When they were through he cleared, offering her dessert or coffee, a nice change from the full-bodied red wine he had served. Something else that was not his usual speed. Anita smiled as she accepted coffee and turned down dessert.

 

If Richard’s smile widened as she said so, she never noticed.

 

When he came back this time he had her coffee in one hand, poured into a tall, slender white mug. The rich color stood out against the pale porcelain and the aroma was strong, the way she liked it. In his other he had a small plate with a piece of rich chocolate cake on it.

 

She sipped the coffee as he ate, watching him and wondering if she dared to have a piece. If it didn’t rot her teeth out on the first bite it would probably send ten pounds straight to her hips. She smiled. She decided she would just have to run it off in the morning.

 

“I’d like a bite, if you don’t mind,” she said. “Just one, though.”

 

Another smile, one that she noticed as he held the fork out to her. She leaned forward but couldn’t get her mouth around it; he was holding it too far away. She leaned a little further but he only danced it out of reach.

 

Anita’s eyes narrowed and she pulled back. “If you didn’t want to share, you should have just said…” Her voice trailed off as she caught the bright glint of light on the perfectly clean tines of the fork.

 

“Oh, my God,” she said, trying very hard to just breathe.

 

“Anita,” he started, getting up and coming to her side at the table, kneeling. The diamond was bright against the gold and his hand reached for hers. “Marry me, Anita. We belong together.”

 

Her eyes grew hot and she backed away, knocking her chair down in her haste and causing several candles to flicker and die, just like the light in Richard’s eyes as she tried to get away from him.

 

“Anita…”

 

“I can’t, Richard. I just can’t.”

 

The house was silent as she fled.

  
**this is my december**  
this is my snow covered home  
this is my december  
this is me alone

The Circus of the Damned was a dark place in the middle of day. An odd thought until one remembered it as the resting place of hundreds of vampires, including the Master of the City. Jean-Claude may have had superior taste when it came to decorating, but nothing could hide the stench of death anymore.

 

At least from him.

 

Richard shuddered as he walked along the quiet halls. There were wolves about, he could sense them peripherally. But none would come near him when he was the mood he was. He was feeling violent, dangerous. Deadly.

 

It rolled off of him in waves and frightened his wolves into hiding.

 

He knew that Jean-Claude was alive again, or as near to it as he ever got. The vampire no longer slept later in the day than perhaps one or two. A side effect from the marks being bound as tightly as they had been after he and Anita had consummated their desires.

 

He knew it even better because for once he had opened his end and was reaching out. He wanted to know where to go, who was there, why. To make them leave, and to keep them from interfering.

 

Jean-Clause was alone, still in his bed, waiting for him. Calm, cool, collected.

 

Smug.

 

Richard’s face twisted as he swung the bedroom door in. Jean-Claude was so sure of himself and his dominance over Richard, he hadn’t even tried to find out what had made him so angry. He only sat there, almost smirking, as he watched the furious werewolf.

 

He felt as his eyes slipped, shifting into a deep amber that was a prelude of his beast. But no, he had enough control not to allow it out to play. At least, not all the way.

 

His throat thickened and a rumble erupted from it. A quasi-growl that had the bastard vampire sitting up, looking slightly more alert. But not frightened. Not alarmed. Not yet.

 

With a sigh he let his beast out a little further. The tips of his fingers split apart with a small pop. It looked hideous, watching the sharp claws grow from his frail human flesh. But it didn’t hurt. Not physically, at least.

 

Jean-Claude only raised an eyebrow. “You are upset, _mon ami_?” he asked casually, flipping his hair away from his eyes which had begun to burn with blue fire.

 

But Richard didn’t fear them. He didn’t fear anything right then, he decided as he lashed out with one hand, raking the claws across Jean-Claude’s face. The other hand shot out from the opposite side, taking most of Jean-Claude’s throat with it. He could see the glistening white of his spine and the growl grew in tone, deepening as his beast fought to rise.

 

Jean-Claude’s body slumped to the ground as bright red blood flowed from it, his eyes rolling back to stare at Richard. There was the alarm, there was the fear. It was there as he realized Richard truly meant to kill him.

 

And kill him he did, with a violent wrenching that tore his head from the neck and then hurled it across the room. Blood flew leaving a macabre path from body to severed head, and Richard threw his head back and howled. The sound rang against the stone of the walls and it was answered by dozens of wolves who had crept out of the rooms to watch their Ulfric.

 

Richard was too caught up in what he had done, in the wrenching pain that swept through him, to see that there was no approval from his pack. Only fear.

 

His body was racked with pain as he stumbled up the stairs to the upper levels, leaving behind a small pile of burning matches. He dropped down outside on the grass, laying back and waiting for the missing marks to stop punishing him.

 

He was still lying there as the Circus went up in flames, taking most of the vampires and werewolves of St. Louis with it.

  
**and i**  
just wish that i didn't feel  
like there was something i missed  
and i  
take back all the things i said  
to make you feel like that

 

Anita was alone when it hit. She had come home the night before and collapsed into bed, exhausted by the tears Richard’s proposal had triggered. Then up again for a consultation at the office. By the time afternoon rolled around she was more tired than she’d been when she’d gone to bed the night before.

 

She found herself sitting at a café style restaurant, outside under a gaily-colored umbrella, an untouched salad in front of her and too many thoughts in her head. They crammed together so tightly that her head ached from it.

 

She sighed as the ache spread from her head and down her body, out across her arms until it was a buzzing sensation at her fingertips. A searing pain shot across her throat and she cried out, collapsing across the table as her body suddenly went limp.

 

Her eyes burned and she watched as blood seeped across the white tablecloth in front of her. As she slipped down the chair to the ground she could almost feel it sticking to her fingers, dragging bright red lines across the snow-white linen.

 

With a muffled scream she opened the marks between her and Jean-Claude. She was unable to reach Richard as he reeled from Jean-Claude’s death, and she was left to find him on her own. He was still there when she linked with him and she could see the flames dancing around them as she tried to shove energy into him.

 

For a moment she felt a cool breeze and thought she heard him say, “No, _ma petite_ , there is no hope for me. Save yourself!” But she wasn’t sure.

 

The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes were the flashes of memory Jean-Claude sent to her. Bits and pieces of the time they had spent together, and then his last moments before Richard had swung out at him in a killing rage.

 

She wept as she realized what had happened. She had denied him and he had taken it that she had preferred Jean-Claude. Her body arched as the flames ate across her skin and then went limp. A final sigh and a soul slipped past her.

 

She let go then, willing herself into the darkness that called to her. Because in the darkness she wouldn’t have to face the truth.

 

That she was responsible for killing him.

  
**and i**  
just wish that i didn't feel  
like there was something i missed  
and i  
take back all the things i said to you

 

Once again Anita found herself signed out AMA—against medical advice. But she had recovered well from the collapse at the little café and was able to blame it on overwork. That had been easy compared to any other argument she had ever given.

 

Because animating was something that drained the personal energy of a person. And now, if she survived Richard’s death, she would be on doctors’ orders to cut back on her raisings. Burt would have a fit, she thought, and smiled at it.

 

The smile faded as she neared the school. She didn’t want to desecrate the grounds, but she had no choice. Richard had to die.

 

At least it was after hours and there would be no children there.

 

She parked and got out of her jeep, drawing the Browning and checking the clip and chamber out of habit, though she knew it was loaded with some of Edward’s homemade specials. She rarely used them, always concerned that they would jam her gun when she needed it.

 

Tonight she had other concerns. Avenging Jean-Claude at the fore, trying to live through it not far behind. But she had no illusions. Walking into the school, prepared to kill Richard, as she was doing now…

 

It was tantamount to a death sentence.

 

Or suicide.

 

She pushed that thought away, rationalizing it with her lack of desire to die. She didn’t want to die, but leaving Richard free was… dangerous. He’d crossed a line he never would have if he’d been thinking clearly, sanely.

 

Or maybe he had been. If that were true… He needed to die more than before. An insane Ulfric was bad enough, but one that was homicidal? Well, over her at least. That was very, very bad.

 

And maybe it was neither, she decided as she entered his empty classroom to see him sitting there at his desk, head in his hands. He looked up at her, eyes unfocused and full of pain.

 

Maybe he had just snapped. Love made people do crazy things before. World-wide.

 

Too bad love wasn’t forcing her to raise the gun. It was revenge, vengeance, good and simple, that made her pull the trigger as she detached her emotions from herself. No, it wasn’t love, because she didn’t feel anything except the buzzing prickle that swarmed over her, from her toes up.

 

It felt like thousands, millions, billions of ants swarming her and biting, biting. She was writhing and screaming and not even knowing or caring as her flesh was ripped from her bones and melded back into a twisted burning thing.

 

Then, thankfully, she was swallowed by the darkness before the pain could devour her.  
  
 **and i give it all away**  
just to have somewhere to go to  
give it all away  
to have someone to come home to

 

_“We’ve just received word on breaking news and St. Louis.”_

 

The house was silent save for that one sentence. It didn’t mean anything, neither of them moved from what they were doing as it was spoken. She continued reading her novel, a romance that was quickly heating up. He continued to browse through a magazine she had carelessly thrown on the nightstand.

 

But the cool night air seemed to hold its breath as it waited for the next. “Reports from the popular tourist area have the Master Vampire of the City dead, as well as a local junior high science teacher several sources have named as the Ulfric of the St. Louis pack.”

 

The magazine’s pages fluttered as he lowered it and stared at the screen, watching the nameless reporter ramble on in front of a picture of Jean-Claude and Richard. Moments later it flickered into a frightening visage of Anita, covered in blood and looking dead in a stretcher.

 

Another woman in a dull suit was pushing a microphone into the faces of the two paramedics who were wheeling her, asking them if reports were true. He wasn’t surprised when they shoved past her, nearly knocking her over.

 

“In connection, Anita Blake was found with Richard Zeeman’s body. Also known as the Executioner for her number of court ordered vampire executions, she’s being hospitalized with reports confirming her to be in a coma and caught in the crossfire between members of the local pack…”

 

The television droned on as the magazine fell from nerveless fingers.

  
**this is my december**  
these are my snow covered dreams  
this is me pretending  
this is all i need

 

_Blood and light and dark, all rolled into one. She wrestles with them trying to reach the blurry shape behind them, just out of reach. Arms outstretched, blue eyes burning._

_The light glints off of his sunshine hair, her eyes water and she squints to see him. Her hands reach out for his, fingers missing what he offers._

_She reaches again, falling short by more than before. He is leaving, she is screaming for him. He has never left her before; she has never lost him before._

_He has always been there._

_“Help me,” she cries out, struggling not to be pulled under again, screaming and cursing as the arms recede and he becomes lost to her._

  
**and i**  
just wish that i didn't feel  
like there was something i missed  
and i  
take back all the things i said  
to make you feel like that

 

She’d been silent as he’d tossed the magazine aside and shoved the cover back. She didn’t start in on him until he had pulled a travel case from a shelf in the closet and had begun shoving clothes and weapons into it.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

She hadn’t even been paying attention to the television. She had no clue what had happened, or who he was rushing to. But she already knew the why, or would once he’d told her where he was headed.

 

He didn’t answer as he grabbed the phone and dialed a number from memory. When the other end was answered he spoke tersely. “I need a ticket to St. Louis. One way, no stops. The fastest flight you can find. I’ll be ready to leave in an hour.”

 

He waited while the search was run and continued shoving clothes into the bag. Donna sat on the bed, rigidly straight, romance novel on her lap clenched in her white-knuckled hands. She was only watching him, an odd expression on her face.

 

Edward glanced at her then away, struggling to keep his ‘Ted’ persona up. This was going to be hard enough without frightening her. Without letting her see the truth.

 

“There’s an emergency in St. Louis,” was all he said as he tugged on a faded pair of jeans and a black sweater. Over it he strapped on his shoulder holster, checking his Beretta and its clip, then securing it inside. He shoved his wallet in his back pocket, knowing he would need the concealed carry permits in it when he got to the airport.

 

“You’re going to see _her_ , aren’t you?” Donna said. Her voice was quiet, but heavy in the still of the room. The television was still playing in the background, advertising shoe inserts, and Edward could barely hear past the ice in the air.

 

He sighed and zipped the bag. “Just because I’m going to St. Louis does not mean I’m seeing her.” It was the truth, in a twisted form. She was in a coma, and might be dead before he got there.

 

Donna pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. “Do you know anyone else in St. Louis?”

 

“Christ, Donna. I know the Master, the Ulfric, and I’m chummy with several vampires, werewolves, and half the fucking pard.” He tossed the bag down by the door and sat on the edge of the bed.

 

Within moments he had kicked his shoes out from under it and was sliding them on his feet, lacing them tightly and tucking the trailing ends. “How many times do I have to tell you? I am not having an affair with Anita Blake.”

 

She flung the covers back off of her and paced to the door, closing it before turning back. “How many times have I _ever_ asked that?” she asked in a low and vehement voice.

 

He didn’t answer, only stood up, watching her. He could feel the emption begin to bleed out of his face. Feel it start to become a blank palette for a mask. Feel it becoming just what he didn’t want it to be with her.

 

“I never asked you that,” she said wearily. “I only asked if you were in love with her.”

 

Edward just watched her.

 

“Well? Are you?”

 

He didn’t answer, only walked over to his bag and picked it up. He stood there waiting for her to move from the doorway so that he could leave. While he watched her he shrugged off the lat shreds of his ‘Ted’ persona and let his true self come out to play.

 

His eyes went cold and blue as ice and he stared impassively. She flinched under that gaze, not wanting him to answer anymore. Not even sure if she cared what it would have been. Instead she stepped aside, letting her hand hold the knob so that he had to wait a moment more before leaving.

 

“If you leave tonight, Ted, don’t come back.” She turned and walked away, into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

 

He left.

  
**and i**  
just wish that i didn't feel  
like there was something i missed  
and i  
take back all the things i said to you

_Back. In the darkness one speck of light shining, outstretched arms. “Stay,” he says. She cries._

_“Stay with me,” he says._

_“Help me,” she whispers. “I’m so tired.”_

_Pain and fear and weakness murmur through her. He slips back; the speck becomes a mere mote. She screams for him._

_“Ask me again, please.” She is tired, so tired, and loses her footing, siding farther away._

_“Ask me again, I’ll say yes.”_

_She is too tired and the light fades. And with it her hope. She curls inward._

_“I would have said yes, she whispers brokenly._

  
**and i give it all away**  
just to have somewhere to go to  
give it all away  
to have someone to come home to

 

She looked so alone in the bed. She was wearing one of the indiscrete hospital gowns that opened from the front, versus the back. Easier access to the chest for resuscitation. He knew from experience. There were machines around her, wires and tubes attached to her in various places.

 

An unused ventilator stick in the corner in case her body failed her completely and she stopped breathing. IV’s running to the back of one hand and the tender white skin on the inside of her other forearm. An EKG with dozens of wires running to her chest, multicolored leads tucked into her hospital gown.

 

Like a rainbow of mortality.

 

He had already talked to the doctor in charge of her case, had already tried to explain the binding of the marks to vampire and werewolf. Tried to explain that it was a draining of energy that was killing her, draining because two dead people were holding to her.

 

The man hadn’t understood and in the end had given a noncommittal nod before not so subtly directing him to Anita’s room. He’d already told Edward the pertinent facts anyway. She was dying. There was nothing they could do to prevent it because they didn’t know why, and never mind that Edward tried to explain it.

 

All they could do was make her comfortable. Or as comfortable as an empty husk could be. He shuddered. At least she wasn’t really there. He remembered the ‘corpses’ that Itzpapalotl had had men turned into for entertainment. Remembered what the little necromancer, Nicky Baco, had done with the werewolves that strayed from the Santa Fe pack.

 

No, an empty husk was infinitely better than one in full possession of human faculties.

 

But there was really nothing he could do to save her. The only thing he could do was offer his presence. So he sat with her, waiting for the inevitable. Waiting for her to die. Waiting for the pain that would follow.

 

Minutes stretched into hours and he sat, dozing on occasion. Thinking of talking to her. Not wanting to because he wasn’t sure what to say.

 

The sun set and shadows stretched across the room. He left in search of the cafeteria and food, returned without eating more than a few bites. And still sat.

 

He finally touched her. Carefully, ever so carefully, laying his hand over hers. Turning it in his so that his fingers could wind through hers, wishing she would squeeze back and let him know that she was still there.

 

“Stay,” he whispered. His voice caught and he blinked back tears. “Stay with me.”

 

He laid his head against her hand, cupping it to his cheek. “Please, Anita. I need you.”

 

A finger twitched, and he jerked back. Her eyes were closed, but her face was twisted into a mask of pain and her lips parted, a harsh, ragged breath coming. He stood and pressed the call button for a nurse, watching as her EKG jumped erratically.

 

Then her voice came. Soft, distant, as though from hundreds of miles away. “Please…,” silence, “Ask ‘gin….”

 

More silence and then pounding as a nurse came running, expecting the worse. The doctor was not far behind and Edward watched as the EKG faded back to inactivity while they frantically looked her over. Hours later and nothing had changed. Despite several tests, there was no change.

 

But this time the doctor was in the room when it jumped again. Her voice was still small and broken.

 

“Would said…,” and another lapse that lasted minutes. “Yes.”

 

It had a note of finality to it, one that was answered by her heart rate suddenly plummeting and the EKG flat lining. Edward clenched his fists as he prepared to watch her die.

  
**this is my december**  
this is my time of the year  
this is my december  
this is all so clear

 

She was stabilized. Barely. Her heart had stopped, yet again, and been restarted, yet again. She was slipping away, not by centimeters and inches. Now she was falling faster than anyone could save her, and he knew she would be dead soon.

 

His chest tightened and he swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. She was so small, so pale. So fragile.

 

So loved.

 

He leaned over her and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, and then an even softer one to her lips. His eyes blurred and he could feel tears slipping down his cheeks as he did so. She didn’t so much as flutter an eyelash when they splashed on her own cheeks.

 

He sat back down and leaned his forehead against the side of the bed, burying his face into the mattress. Trying to smother the hot tears as he tried to say good-bye.

 

On a whimsy he sat up and stroked hand over her hair, pushing it back from her face. “It’s okay,” he said. “You can go, if you need to.”

 

He wasn’t surprised when her heart rate started to fluctuate again. This time it was taking a severe downward curve. He simply got up and turned the machine off, cutting through the sudden harsh buzzing. No one would come anyway, her living will instructed them to let her die if she was brain dead.

 

She was.

 

Instead of listening to the screaming he sat there in silence, now and again touching her cheek, her hair. Always watching her, until finally her chest rose no more.

 

He stood and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, giving her one last caress. “I love you,” he whispered into the silence.

 

But there was no one there to hear him.  
  
 **and i give it all away**  
just to have somewhere to go to  
give it all away  
to have someone to come home to

 

He’d arranged to have her cremated and the remains interred. Then he had waited three days before interring them, knowing that her soul would leave before that time was up and irrationally fearing that if it hadn’t left already, it would be buried with her ashes and never be free.

 

He waited another month to go to her grave and pay his last respects. And regrets.

 

He stood there in the dark, passing the hours silently as dawn came closer and closer to the horizon. The cemetery was silent and empty at this time of night, not even the hint of a ghoul. Nothing moves, nothing breathes, nothing.

 

A good way to describe him, he thinks. Trying to feel pain, unable to, and even that won’t set off tears anymore. He had become numb, and a part of him was thankful. He wasn’t sure he would survive the grief again.

 

It had nearly killed him.

 

She had died, not alone as she had expected. Not unloved, for love is not selfish. And what she had had with her… He couldn’t say it. They were monsters to him. And what she had had with them was twisted and desperate and warped.

 

Love is not selfish. And they had loved her selfishly, neither relinquishing her to the other because neither loved her selflessly. It had been that in the end that killed her.

 

The selfishness of each. One would not let her go, the other could not. And it had killed them all.

 

His eyes burned and he scrubbed a hand across them. More tears. He had been wrong.

 

But he wasn’t as raw as he had been. Time helped.

 

He kneeled down and reached a hand out, one unsteady finger tracing the lines of her name. Then pressing, fingers splayed, to the inscription below.

 

_Love is patient, love is kind._

_It bears all things, believes all things,_

_Hopes all things, endures all things._

_Love never fails._

 

“But I did,” he murmured as he stood. No one was watching as he slid into his car and drove away.

  
**and i give it all away**  
just to have somewhere to go to  
give it all away  
to have someone to come home to


End file.
